Faith
by springfieldbluebird
Summary: It takes place right after "Recipe for Heavy Bread." Murdock struggles to remember the horrors of what took place in the Vietnamese prison camp. Of course Face and the others are there to help. Lots of emotion in this one. Please review! A prequel is in the works...so don't forget to check back!
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Oh my goodness this is an old story from 2006. I mentioned it to a good friend and she strongly suggested I post it here. (This is for you, stellina!) I hope you enjoy it. So far, this will be rated T, although a later chapter may have a stronger rating...can't remember, but when I get there, I'll give it the proper warnings. Hope you enjoy! Oh yeah, standard disclaimer applies. Please don't sue me; you'd be wasting your time.

* * *

Face groaned and hid his head under the covers. As far as he could tell, it was the middle of the night. The alarm clock confirmed it. B. A.'s room at the hotel was too close to bunk in, so they'd headed to the small house Hannibal rented. He'd offered to let Face stay until he'd scammed another place. The Mr. Tony train had derailed and Face hadn't had anything lined up right away. He'd expected to get another month out of Mr. Tony at least, so he hadn't had a plan. Oh, a few things in the works, but nothing solid.

What woke him? He listened and heard another soft knock at the door. He stiffened, looking to the door and placing a hand on the reassuring hardness of the pistol butt under the bed. He relaxed just as quickly when he heard a familiar voice. "It's me." Murdock whispered from between the crack in the door. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, Murdock." Face smoothed down his golden hair from where it was sticking up like ruffled hay. He sat up in bed. "Not tired, huh?" He looked into Murdock's dark brown eyes as the pilot made his way in and settled onto the bed, at the foot end so that he sat facing his best friend. He swung his long legs up to rest on the bed in front of him and let out a sigh. Something was up. The entire golf ball liberation army diatribe had sort of melted away when Amy and Lin had taken off for the paper, and they'd left B. A. at his house. In part, Face had been glad because Murdock could be exhausting when his brain got stuck on something. Keeping two of your best friends from killing each other could also wear you out.

"Nope. Can't sleep." Murdock was still wearing his baseball cap (now backwards), sneakers and jacket: ready for action. It was obvious to Face that he hadn't gotten ready to settle down for the night. "I wanted to ask you something, Faceguy." He readjusted his baseball cap and then took it off, glaring at the bill of it as he bended and molded it into the shape he wanted. This time it went on the correct way. "Seeing Lin made me think about Faith." He continued studiously messing around with his hat. Face could read every quirk, every nuance of Murdock's movements and hear his friend's inner thoughts. Murdock wanted to talk, but didn't want to talk, all at the same time.

"Yeah. Me too." Dan Hoi, the prison camp they'd called Faith, had been where they had been imprisoned during the war. None of them really talked about it much, at least anymore. "It was a bad time. I kinda tried to forget all that." He rolled over on his back, adjusting his pillows a little and sitting up against the back of the bed.

"Yeah. See…the thing is—" Murdock met Face's eyes quickly, "thing is, I haven't really ever remembered being there." He continued to fiddle with his hat. "Doc says that's one of the things I've blocked out. I mean I remembered Lin. I remembered teaching him that song, and I remember a few times in the yard talking to you guys, and I remember that dog that used to hang around the place, but. . ." He shook his head. "It's like scenes from a dream. Parts don't connect up." His eyes were hollow looking and there were dark smudges underneath them. Had he been having trouble sleeping recently, Face wondered? "I was hoping you might be able to tell me some things."

Face had known that Murdock had what he called "intermittent memory loss" but he didn't know what Murdock remembered and what he didn't. He mentally cursed himself for not checking Murdock's files at the VA more recently. He usually kept up with those things; the progress the doctors were or weren't making and especially Murdock's current meds, in case they were caught on a job without them and Face had to scam them. "What's Dr. Richter say about you not remembering?" Face asked carefully.

"He said it'll all come out when I'm ready." Murdock said impatiently. "And I hadn't really worried about it, but today it started really. . ." He put one hand on each temple and pressed, looking frustrated. "It started really pushing in on my head. Then, right before we left and B. A. brought us back here, he was rattling his keys and that got to bothering me." He stared at Face, as always, requesting the answers. "That's got something to do with the camps, I know it does." The lanky pilot sat up and leaned forward. "I know what you're gonna say, Facey. You want me to go back and talk to the Doc, but I gotta tell you I don't think that's gonna help. None of those people there know anything. Not like you guys." He struggled with his words. "They just nod and listen and try to get you to spill your guts so they can go over them and dissect your head. I don't wanna go back there right now. I don't wanna feel like a frog on a biology table."

Face chewed his bottom lip, worrying about the obvious anxiety Murdock was feeling. "Hey, I'm not gonna let them do that." He said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He put his hand on Murdock's shin and gave a squeeze to get his attention. "I'm not gonna let them do that. If Hannibal's okay with it, you can just stay here for a couple more days until you're feeling better. It's his house after all, so we better ask him first. We can see about helping you remember some of the things you forgot. How does that sound?" He felt calmed when he got an answering smile from Murdock.

"Thanks Facey." The red numbers of the bedside alarm clock caught his attention for some reason. They glowed 2:30 A.M. "Gee, it's kinda late." He murmured. "Didn't mean to wake you up, I just didn't think. . ." He went to get up.

"Murdock, it's fine." Face said. "Now if you'd woken up B. A., he'd probably have taken off your head, but I'll fall right back asleep." It was a smooth bending of the truth, which he was very, very good at. Face was worried about Murdock now, so he might not sleep at all. "Look. Did you take your meds?" He asked, as Murdock hesitated on his way to the door.

"Nope. Not yet. I was gonna when I went to bed."

"Go get your stuff. You can bunk in here, okay?" He ordered. "I'm gonna keep an eye on you. I don't want you staying up all night to see that episode of "Range Rider" that's coming on TV Land at 4:00 A. M.. We'll talk about all this other stuff tomorrow."

"Facey, you must've got some mind reading equipment." Murdock said with a grin. "How'd you know what I was planning?" He didn't wait for an answer, but padded back down the hallway to the living room where he had stowed his gear.

Murdock came back with the duffel bag that he took on all his trips away from the VA. Face sat on the bed, listening to Murdock recount his favorite top five episodes of 'Range Rider' complete with guest stars and plot summaries as the pilot brushed his teeth and then came to bed in shorts and a blue t-shirt. He'd made sure to check out all the medicines that Murdock had brought and noticed something new for insomnia. It further worried Face for his friend.

As on so many other occasions, a wistful sadness reminded Face why he took so much care with Murdock. The pilot was extremely intelligent, kind, brave and loyal. The rest of the team had taught Face what all that meant, but Murdock most of all. Despite what the war had done to him, Murdock was an extremely resilient person and had pulled Face out of more than a few tight spots. Face owed him so much. It might be time to "pay up," he realized. He would do whatever it took to help Murdock; they all would.

"Now if I wake up and you're slobbering on me, I'm gonna bite you." Murdock quipped. "At least you don't snore like B.A.." When they stayed in a hotel or even in the same house, they could all hear B.A.'s loud snoring shake the walls.

"Settle down and go to sleep." Face said. He rolled over and closed his eyes, facing the wall. "I don't even wanna think about B.A.'s snoring." Face was going over their time in Faith, revisiting memories he hadn't ever wanted to think of again. How much would he need to tell Murdock? How much could he and Hannibal keep hidden about their terrible days there? He groaned inwardly, his worry over the situation growing into dark storm clouds in his mind.

Silence devoured the minutes, and then Murdock said sleepily, "I almost didn't make it out of there, did I?" He was mumbling, the sedative taking hold. "That's where it started, I bet . . ." Face wasn't exactly sure what Murdock meant. These were sleepy ramblings. The pilot let out a deep breath and his body burrowed further into the covers. He murmured something else, but his words weren't discernible. Face turned over and placed his hand reassuringly on the small of Murdock's back. This was a gesture that went way back, back to their time in Faith.

"Just go on. Go to sleep." He whispered. "Everything's gonna be fine." When satisfied that Murdock was, indeed, asleep, he removed his touch and lay back, staring at the dark hair against the white pillow. He laid there and thought for a long time; his mind years and miles away.


	2. Chapter 2

"Faith"

Chapter Two

Disclaimer: These are not my characters, and I don't make a bit of money off of this. Thanks for the comments; they will keep me posting the chapters of this older story.

Author's note: _Dan Hoi_, or Camp Faith, was a real P.O.W. camp in Vietnam, near Hanoi. The "tap code" is real as well and was used by P.O.W.'s to communicate with each other while isolated. One last thing, I know that the TV Land Channel mentioned in chapter one is an anachronism for 1983, but I couldn't resist or think of a better home for "Range Rider." "Spirit in the Sky" is a great song by Norman Greenbaum: not my song at all. Did I mention I don't make any money off of this? LOL!

* * *

_Dan Hoi_—1970

There was music coming from somewhere. Murdock looked up at his tormentors, but they didn't seem to notice the sounds or react to them in any way. The guard behind him, the one everyone had nicknamed "Chuck" cinched the ropes on his arms even more tightly, which brought his elbows even closer together behind his back. There was an exquisite pain, almost beautiful in intensity, as his shoulder dislocated. He cried out but soon lost his breath and the energy to scream.

"You really know how to make a guy feel welcome." He panted, when the pain had subsided to a white hot streak that blurred his vision. "Now I was prepared to forgive the other stuff, but I'm afraid I'm gonna . . .have to file a complaint with your manager." _Why do I do this?_ He asked himself. _Why can't I just shut up?_ He knew it was only going to get worse the more he quipped back at them.

"You are truly incredible, Captain Murdock." The interrogation specialist known to them as "Smiley" shook his head admiringly. "Very few of your comrades have responded in such a fascinating way to my art." Smiley was an artist; since being at Faith, Murdock had become one of his pet projects. The VC officer was determined to break the Captain, no matter the cost. Smiley apparently got tired of studying his captive, so he nodded at Chuck, who shoved Murdock to the floor, over on his injured shoulder. The man gave Murdock one good kick, then left him lying there.

Something was whimpering; Murdock looked around and couldn't see who or what was making such a pitiful noise. _Poor bastard_, he thought, not realizing the sounds were his own. He heard Smiley's voice, but couldn't see him through the shroud of tears clouding his vision. "Captain. Why don't you just tell us what you know about plans for bombing Hanoi? We know you are one of the top pilots; you have to know much. All this can end, if you'll just help us." The voice was smooth and sinuous, like a snake that wound into Murdock's mind and tried to take up residence.

"I can't tell you that." He moaned, eyes squeezed shut. His mind flashed back to Hannibal's bright blue-eyed gaze. They'd all been scared shitless when they'd been marched through the village streets to Camp Faith. Murdock had asked Hannibal what they were supposed to do, and the Colonel had said, with a reassuring smile on his face, _We do what we gotta do, kid. What we have to do to survive, but we return with honor no matter what._ Murdock rolled onto his stomach, trying to ease the pain on his shoulder. Return with honor. That meant defiance as long as he could manage. How long could he make it? He squeezed his eyes shut, and prayed he'd be the type of soldier to make Hannibal, and his country, proud.

"You must be . . .what do you call it? A masochist." Smiley went and got his chair, bringing it around so he could sit closer and look down upon Murdock. "Someone that enjoys this." He reached out with the toe of his boot and nudged Murdock's injured arm. The pilot heard himself moan, and tried to edge away, despite the bone deep wish not to give Smiley what he wanted. "Do you enjoy this pain, Captain?" He murmured as he suddenly leaned in. There was something hungry and predatory in his gaze.

Murdock watched the glee-filled features and the fascinated gleam in the dark black eyes. He could feel the tears cutting wet paths down his face. _Please. . ._ He didn't seem to have the strength to cry out loud, so all the words were in his mind and his soul. _I know I hadn't made too much time for you, big guy, but. . .I could use some help if you're really there . . . _He'd never been religious, not really. Just in a, 'I know there's something up there', sort of way. _I'll eat all my vegetables from now on. I'll help little old ladies cross the street. Promise…_

Suddenly there was a jerk on the ropes confining him, and Chuck growled in his ear, but something started drowning him and the pain out. Comfortable warmth began to surround him. He marveled at it, looking around as if someone was actually there to answer his prayers. He was still alone, except for Smiley and Chuck. Suddenly, he began to hear music. "Hear that?" Murdock's voice was only a whisper, but his eyes were wide and staring. "Damn. I always thought God woulda liked opera." He grinned, and a fierce light entered his eyes. He closed his eyes, to block out the last bit of Smiley and Chuck as they carried him, singing, back to his cell. "When I die and they lay me to rest, gonna go to the place that's the best, when they lay me down to die, goin' up to the spirit in the sky…"

* * *

Los Angeles—1983

The song, complete with psychedelic fuzz guitar, was incredibly loud in Murdock's head when he woke up. He sat up in bed, sweat rolling down his face as he looked around. Where was he? Alarm clock, bed, his clothes thrown over a chair, a window with rain falling gently outside. He slowly put the pieces back in the right order, in the same way he did every time he woke up somewhere unfamiliar. They were staying at Hannibal's, in Los Angeles, and he was in the guest room. There, that sounded normal and right. He got up and went into the bathroom, catching sight of his tired face in the mirror.

The dream. It had been bright vivid Technicolor, right down to the black shine on Smiley's boots and the red of his own blood as it dripped on the concrete floor. He shivered, not knowing if it had really happened or not. He wasn't sure because his mind created a lot of things that weren't real. Sanity came for him in sifting through the images, as if looking through a box of photos to find the ones you were in. He was able to allow himself this luxury, as he stood in the little bathroom replaying the dream in his mind. As he searched his memory, he heard the sound of keys jangling.

_They're coming._ He mouthed the words, even as he heard them echo in his head, thirteen year old rumbling of a storm in his memory. Who? Who was coming? He tilted his head, listening as if he could get the answer by simply trying hard enough. He had no idea how long he remained like that, eyes unfocused and ears straining to hear sounds that were lost in time.

* * *

Hannibal had sat on the screened back porch, smoking a cigar and waiting for Murdock to get up for long enough. Face had left to go to the VA a little while ago, but not before filling him in on his discussion last night with the pilot. He had worried about this happening one day. He thought about all the members of his team in turn. B. A. had always been fairly straightforward; he said what he thought most of the time. The only time he wasn't forthcoming was when it involved admitting he cared about someone, but that was easy enough to read from his actions. Face had been hard to get to know; back when he began with the team he had kept his emotional distance. Gradually, however, he'd let little bits of that mask fall away, like little gifts that had been given without his realizing it. Murdock . . . well, he was unique.

He got up and made his way inside, rinsing out his coffee cup in the kitchen. Where Face held himself back, Murdock was as open and honest as any child. Murdock laid himself out there. But. . .ever since Murdock's grip on reality had crumbled, there was an unknown quality about him. He was still as good of a person as Hannibal had ever known, but there was something dangerous about him. That had its roots in what had happened at Faith; he was sure.

Crazy? Yeah. Murdock had always been crazy. One of the best—no, the best-pilot Hannibal had ever known. A real 'John Wayne.' He'd never been dangerous, though. He'd brought back almost every man on every team he'd flown over there. Not many Huey pilots could boast of that. Now as far as bringing back all the choppers in one piece? That made Hannibal smile. Murdock had been infamous for his crash landings.

Hannibal made his way back to the guest room and knocked on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again, then opened the door. The bedsheets were rumpled and thrown aside. "Murdock? Are you up?" He called, not wanting to startle the pilot.

"Shhh." He heard the soft noise from the direction of the bathroom. His blue gaze narrowed, as he made his way to the bathroom doorway.

Murdock stood on the tiled floor, head tilted to the side as if he were listening. His gaze was vague and unfocused, his fingertips tapping on the white ceramic of the wall. A fine sheen of sweat covered his face, which was twisted in concentration. The pilot's ear was pressed to the tile, as if he were listening for something on the other side. Hannibal stayed still, trying to figure out what was going on. This didn't seem like one of Murdock's usual 'games.' He quickly realized the significance of the tapping on the wall. Murdock was using 'tap code,' the message code they'd learned in Faith to communicate with other prisoners when not allowed to congregate in the open yard. Faith had been one of the few camps where soldiers had been allowed that little luxury of socialization, and Hannibal was sure it was responsible for the teams' success at getting out of there almost intact. Physically, they'd escaped, but mentally . . . his stomach clenched for his friend. It seemed as if some of them were still there.

He began to translate. The alphabet was on a grid system. The first number of taps stood for the horizontal row, the second number for the vertical row. _T-H-E-Y-R-E-C-O-M-I-N-G. _Murdock's message was repeated, again and again with swift facility. "Murdock." He whispered. He came forward to put his hands on his friend's shoulders. "Come on." He pulled gently, moving the pilot out of the bathroom. Murdock had been really bad, right after the team had gotten arrested for the bank job. That was the worst Hannibal had ever seen him, but this had to be the second worst. Was Murdock completely gone into the past? Hannibal refused to believe it. Hell, he refused to allow it.

"Colonel . . . I'm trying to figure it out." Murdock allowed himself to be turned around, to face Hannibal, but his eyes were seeing something far away. "Keys. . .I keep hearing keys. . ." His fingers still tapped out the communication, even though they made no noise in the empty air.

Hannibal put a gentle hand on each side of Murdock's face and made the pilot look into his eyes. "I'm going to help you figure it out, Murdock. But you can't go back there. Not like that." He shook his head to emphasize the point and moved his hands down to Murdock's shoulders. Few things in this world still scared Hannibal Smith, but this . . . looking into his friend's eyes and seeing emptiness looking back at him? He didn't know if he could invent anything worse. "You've gotta remember what we agreed on. All of us get out or none of us." How many times had they said that to each other in Faith? Thousands? He used his iron will to get a grip on himself, making his voice to take on the needed authorative tone. "Do you remember?"

"Yes, sir." He replied. The anxiety seemed to be melting out of him the longer he and Hannibal held gazes, so Hannibal didn't move. Murdock was coming back to himself now and blinking like he was waking up from a dream.

"You with me, kid?" He said, eyes boring into Murdock as if he could see the pilot's mind. His voice was softer now, but he gripped Murdock's shoulders even more tightly.

"Yeah." Murdock nodded. "Yeah." He seemed more certain of himself.

Hannibal nodded, satisfied, and let go of the lanky pilot. "Come on. You need something to eat. Face'll be back soon." Hannibal led the way towards the kitchen. He hoped they were doing the right thing by keeping Murdock here with them instead of taking him back to the VA. None of them were psychiatrists, but still, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that Murdock was safest here, with them. He hoped he was right.

Anyway, they couldn't desert Murdock at the hospital like that: dump him out for someone to dope him up and ignore him if he got too loud or too lost. The team kept more of an eye on what happened to Murdock at the hospital than the pilot knew. Face had personally gotten rid of two of the doctors there that had been of the "dope 'em up and keep 'em quiet school." There had been a rapid transfer waiting for both men after only a week at their job. If Murdock needed them, if he had asked them to be there like Face had described, then it would take a whole army to drag Hannibal, and the rest of the team, away. With that settled in his mind, he went to make breakfast. He didn't know what the day would hold, but whatever it was, they would make it through. They always had.

* * *

Dear reader, let me know what you're thinking so I know whether to wipe the dust off of the rest of this old antique.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note:This story should be wrapping up in four or five parts...(The last two parts are coming after some edits.) :o) I treasure each and every comment that is submitted!

B. A. looked out the window as Face's flashy vette pulled up in the parking lot. That thing stood out even on a cloudy, rainy, day. He made a face and shook his head. Guys on the run should not drive a flashy white corvette with a red stripe. Now a van . . . that was a car to drive when you were trying to lay low. He looked back down at the curly head of the kid he was tutoring in math. "Jason, I'm gonna have to talk to this fool comin' in here in just a minute. You think you can try some of those word problems without me?"

"Sure, B. A." The kid grinned back at the large black man. "I think I'm getting it now. Keep trying to see it in my head, right?"

"You got it." He nodded and got up, going over where Face waited by the door of the center where B.A. volunteered almost every day each week. He liked his work with the kids. It was something that meant a lot to him because he could've used a hand up like that when he was a child, and nobody had been there. He knew it was simply a small corner of the world he was changing, but it was his corner of the world. "Hey, Faceman. What you doin' over this way?" He raised an eyebrow. "You not lookin' to stay with me, now, are you?" He put on his best tough look to dissuade any ideas.

"Not on your life." There was a flashy smile, as Face shook the rain out of his hair. He had ditched the disguise he'd used over at the VA, and was now dressed in a designer pair of jeans and a grayish blue t-shirt, speckled with rain. "I came to just let you know about something that's going on." Face looked around, becoming more serious. Several kids sat around a table doing school work; older kids were playing air hockey in the corner and another center worker was helping two kids play a board game. This wasn't the place to talk about this. "Can we go talk somewhere a minute?"

"Yeah." B. A. glanced over to Jason, saw he was busily working out how many boards he would need to build a doghouse. "Van's parked out back. It's probably as good a place as any." Which meant it was private, which seemed to be what Face meant by the expression in his eyes. B.A. led the way and soon they were settled in the van; B.A. in the driver's seat, of course. The rain was falling gently on the glass now, smearing the world outside into watery green hues. "What's up?" B. A. asked. This wasn't the usual way they went about a job, so he knew it was something different. For some reason, he had a bad feeling.

"It's Murdock." Face began. B. A. immediately narrowed his eyes. "He's over at Hannibal's. We're gonna have to look after him for a few days." He struggled for the right words, looking out at the rain. "I think seeing Lieutenant Angel, Lin, Chow—all that stirred up some things in his mind." He cut his eyes sideways, gauging B. A.'s reaction. If Face was any reader of people, and he was, he knew that it had made all of them think about their time as P.O.W.'s, B. A. included.

"Murdock's mind don't need no stirrin' up." B. A. said, almost without thought. There was a long pause, then he spoke more quietly, "So what are you sayin'?" Face's expression said it all. "You sayin' he's losin' it." It wasn't a question. B. A.'s hands gripped the steering wheel, hard. The anger was like an increase in temperature inside the van, something palpable. He'd constantly worried that something like this would happen to Murdock; that he'd slip away for good one day in his mind and they'd never see him again. He shook his head and looked down at his lap. His next words were hard for him to say, it was clear. "Face. I get real mad when I can't help him." His voice was quiet, but shook with emotion. "I can fix everything else, but I can't fix him." It was a statement of unbearable frustration. "I can't help my brother, and it makes me wanna hurt somebody." His eyes stared at the dashboard, gleaming with amber fire.

B.A.'s words caused a pang of understanding in Face. They all felt this was beyond their element, as if they didn't know how to help. Sometimes Murdock seemed to be in touch with a world that was beyond their comprehension and to someone as concrete and reality-focused as B. A., that was frightening.

Neither of them had to explain to the other. "I know." Face said. "We're going to try and help him, B. A.." There was a popping sound from the steering wheel, as if the plastic couldn't stand any more pressure upon it. Face had no doubt that B.A. could rip the car into bits, especially right now. "I don't know how or what he's gonna need from us, but we gotta be there for him. Um. . .it's gonna be hard for you to drive over there if you pull that steering wheel off." He said, looking uncomfortably at B. A.'s grip.

"I can fix it." B. A. said, but he let go of the steering wheel. He still glared at it intensely.

"Look. If you. . . If it's too much. . ." Face said. The growl and look from B. A. cut him off.

"He may be a crazy fool, but he's still my brother. I ain't good at stuff like this, but I ain't gonna let him down." B. A.'s glare remained fixed on the dashboard. "I'll be there later today. When I finish up here." He didn't look up or say anything else. Finally, thankfully, Face left, and B. A. was alone.

His mind seemed to be walking backwards. His eyes remained in a fixed gaze upon the dashboard. Faith. He'd hated the place from the first moment they'd arrived. The stench . . . he'd first thought that was the unbearable part, and then he'd learned. He'd learned the hard way that there were worse things that one could get used to. Even worse, there were things that you couldn't ever get used to.

He fought it, a long time, but he couldn't help remembering. The sights, the smells, the pain of what they'd went though came back to him in washes of memory, like waves spreading and covering over one another on the beach. The others, Face and Hannibal and even Murdock, when he made sense, tried to keep it from him, but he had known. . .figured it out . . .

* * *

**1970—Dan Hoi**

He was gonna kill someone. It was inevitable. Being caged, like an animal, like a beast was turning him into one. He paced, seven steps long ways to the door, seven steps across. Nighttime was the worst, when they had to be locked in these cells. B. A. felt claustrophobic; the walls seemed to tower over him, bending as if they would fall in.

"Relax, you ugly mudsucker." Murdock said casually. He was sitting in the corner, eyes closed, and his back against the wall. He cracked one eye open when he spoke, and his face broke into a slight smile. Hannibal and Face were asleep on their woven mats and the bare light bulb threw distorted shadows onto them. "It's only eight hours and fifteen minutes until the morning."

Murdock's uncanny ability to tell time without a watch was annoying and fascinating at the same time. "How you know, you fool." B. A. muttered, not asking a question but just growling.

Murdock shrugged. "It must be a gift. Look. Tell me something." He opened his eyes and fixed his attention on the big man. "What're you gonna do when you get back home?"

B. A. growled again. "Nothin'." He sat down, frustratedly.

"Sounds fascinating." Murdock replied. "You know, I'm glad we're all bunked up together because you're such a fascinating conversationalist, B. A.." He paused for a moment. "There's two things I'm gonna do when I get back home." B. A. almost looked interested, as Murdock tried to involve him in conversation. "First, I'm gonna go to the store and buy a gallon of rocky road ice cream and a whole apple pie. Then I'm gonna eat both of 'em." He paused because somehow he knew B. A. would have something to say.

"You fool. Nobody eats rocky road ice cream with apple pie. You eat vanilla ice cream with apple pie." His face began to show a smile, like light speckled on the surface of the murky depths of a lake. "And nobody's store-bought pie is as good as my mama's."

"Uh-huh. I gotta try it before I'll believe it." Murdock said. "What would your mama say if you brought a white boy back to the projects to try some of her cooking? Be honest. You know your mama'd think you gone crazy."

"My mama likes everybody. She a good woman, fool." B. A.'s smile became tinted with a touch of sadness as he thought about home.

"You don't gotta tell me that." Murdock said softly. "You're her son, aren't you?" His eyes shone with affection as he sat back again.

"If I don't make it home. . ." B. A. spoke, almost to himself. "It'll kill her. . . Sometimes. . .I don't feel like I'm gonna be able to stay in here much longer." He looked up at the ceiling, wondering what the sky looked like tonight. "I feel like I'm gonna go crazy, you know. Like I wanna do somethin' to make the guards end it instead of waitin' for it like this." It was not unheard of in the camp, when people couldn't take it anymore, to rush the guards or commit some other kind of infraction to get themselves shot.

"Don't say that." Murdock's eyes shone with a dark light. In fact, he almost seemed angry. "You know Hannibal would tie your ass in a knot if he heard you talking like that. You're gonna make it back home, B. A. That's what I'm here for. To see that we get some good home cookin' when we get out of here." He waited a few long moments to see if B. A. would argue with him.

"You' right Murdock." B. A. replied gruffly, avoiding Murdock's searching gaze.

Murdock nodded as if was settled. "Now," He changed the subject rapidly, as he often did. "I still say _From Russia With Love_ was a better movie than _Dr. No_ . . ."

They sat that way for a long time that night, talking in low voices about everything and nothing, all at the same time. The dark mood of earlier lifted and B. A. almost forgot where they were until he heard the sound of keys coming down the hallway.

There was an explosion of tap code that seemed to come from everywhere, as if the prison were filled with hundreds of scratching rats, all making noise at the same time. Without even moving, Murdock passed the message on down the hallway. The message of _T-H-E-Y-R-E-C-O-M-I-N-G_ flew down the hall at light-speed. B. A. growled when he saw there were the shadows of feet by his door. The guards were speaking in rapid Vietnamese. He and Murdock exchanged glances. B. A. didn't speak their jibba jabba, but Murdock did. Hannibal and Face knew some words, probably more than most soldiers, but by far Murdock was the best translator for all of them. Some of their time each day was spent on trying to pick up the language; Hannibal had decided it might be helpful one day, but B. A. just didn't seem to have the ear for it.

The pilot crawled over to the door, listening intently. Whatever he was hearing, it drained the little color there was from his features. Murdock almost looked as if he were going to be sick for a moment. B. A. started to ask, but his friend shook his head no and held up a hand. For long moments he sat, straining his ears to hear every word. He got up and placed his ear next to the opening of the door, listening intently at eye level. Something felt as if it were decided somehow. "Don't worry about me, B. A.," the pilot said inexplicably, with one of the lopsided smiles that meant he was up to no good.

Then, something entirely unreal happened. Without warning, Murdock began to scream and beat on the door. "Come on you motherfuckers!" He rattled the door, throwing his body against it. "Come on and get me if you've got the guts, you bastards! I know you're afraid of me, you rat-eating sons-of-bitches!"

B. A. didn't know what to do, except to catch Murdock up in his big arms and drag him back from the door. Murdock began to scream insults in Vietnamese, pulling away from B. A. Hannibal and Face had woken up and were getting up, startled and sleepy at the same time. Not knowing what was happening, they wanted to be ready.

The door seemed to blast open and two guards, backed up by two others with automatic weapons stood in the hallway. There was some sort of heated exchange between Murdock and the guards. Hannibal tried to break in, but one of the guards attacked him with a rifle butt, just for talking. By the time the guard backed off, Hannibal was cut and bleeding. Before B. A. could react, it seemed as if they were dragging Murdock down the hallway, locking the door behind them. Too late, the big soldier made his way to the door and threw himself against it. It groaned but held solidly.

"What happened, B. A.?" Hannibal asked, wiping blood from his busted lip.

"He heard 'em comin' down the hall and just went crazy." B. A. said. "What did he start yellin' like that for?" He punched the door with one giant hand, and looked to Hannibal, frustrated. Hannibal and Face were looking at him as if they knew something he didn't. "What is it? Tell me, Hannibal. They didn't come here for Murdock, did they?"

"I think they were saying they were supposed to take one of us out." Face murmured, sinking back down to his knees. He didn't even have the strength or heart to bend the truth, but he'd tried to smooth it over. It was transparent to B. A. , however.

"It was me they were after, wasn't it?" Somehow, B. A. had managed to avoid being selected for interrogation, almost the entire time he'd been here. Hannibal had said he thought it was because B. A.'s large size intimidated the guards. "You don't even have to say it." He threw himself down and put his head against his arms. The look in Face's eyes had said it all.

1983

The rain was still falling as B. A. tried to get a grip. His head was in his hands as he listened to the water tap out its mysterious code on the roof of the van. _Feels just like it happened yesterday_, he thought. The pain and guilt didn't want to leave his heart. He tried to banish them from his mind; but like stubborn children, his thoughts refused to do what they were told. Wiping his eyes, he checked around to see if anyone had been watching him. He was still alone.

He remembered what they had done to Murdock. How he'd been thrown back into the cell like a soulless doll, as if they had murdered his heart and mind. Bruised, blood-soaked and battered, he didn't even utter a cry as they dumped him in a heap in the corner. B.A. had taken care of his friend as the physical wounds healed; all the while holding his own wrath in check. If Hannibal hadn't been there to talk him out of it, he knew he would have snapped the neck of every guard he could've reached until stopped by a bullet in the head. _Don't even think about it, Sergeant._ Hannibal had said. _We get out together or we don't get out at all. _

B. A. got out of the van and stalked back towards the center. He had to let them know he wouldn't be back for a while. This wasn't the time to wallow in his guilt over what Murdock had done for him. He didn't have the luxury to be that selfish right now. He was going to be there for Murdock. Whatever darkness his friend was lost in, there was gonna be a way out, or somebody was gonna pay. Even though it didn't make sense . . . because there was no one left to blame, it was still a comforting thought.

To be continued….


	4. Chapter 4

Faith

Chapter Four

Author's Note/Warning: This contains some intense situations, of an adult nature. (I don't want to give spoilers, but if you are sensitive to physical violence and assault, this chapter is not for you.) Please be forewarned that a major character is tortured (but he's ok in the end!) No offense is intended in any way. I tried to handle this sensitive subject in a respectful way (if there is such a thing for a subject such as this). Ah...the things we put our fanfic characters through. *shakes head*

I have been editing this; that's why we had such a long delay between Ch. 3 and Ch. 4. Thanks for reading and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.

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**1970-Dan Hoi / Camp Faith**

It was cold. The fear seemed to seethe around him, circling his body like a cold snake. His eyes roved wildly over the patch of wall right in front of him. Like everything else in the torture room, it was painted black and smelled heavily of ammonia. He could feel the cold touch of a blade, cutting away the dirty, torn shirt he'd had on the day he'd been captured. Even though the air was hot, he felt chilled by the cold touch of steel pressed against his back. There was no pain until the blade turned and metal parted flesh. His teeth started chattering as the torturer continued his work; tremors shook his body, but it felt as if they were happening to someone else. Blood ran in a searing rivulet down his shoulder, dripping down to the waist of his fatigues. The muscles in his legs were taut; only his toes and the balls of his feet made contact with the concrete floor. Murdock was hanging from a hook sunk into the concrete of the wall, his arms tied and pulled above him.

There was the sensation of heat from his captor's body as he leaned close to the bound pilot. The guard they'd nicknamed Smiley spoke in his ear, "You have not left me much choice, Captain. Your behavior, your refusal to help us . . . All of it has brought you to the point you are at right now. Remember that."

The wickedly sharp blade carved more lines into his flesh; the work was slow and agonizingly deliberate. Murdock couldn't help but think about the soldier who had tried to escape Dan Hoi last month; Smiley had taken him and flayed the skin from his back while he was still alive. The eventual blood loss had killed the young soldier, and they'd had to watch his corpse disintegrate in the tropical heat. Smiley's trophy had been hung from a post in the yard so they could all be "educated" by the example.

His body continued to shake with fear, muscles taut with terror. There weren't any words to say—no begging would save him. This man was a sadist. Murdock clenched his teeth together so he wouldn't sob. Sobbing would mean he was a victim, and he wasn't going to be a victim. He'd been brave earlier, and sure he could take anything they could dish out. But now he was beginning to think he hadn't seen half of the hell that could happen to him. Utterly helpless, he hung at the mercy of the twisted monster that was carving him up like a slab of meat. Smiley didn't want any information anymore. He wanted Murdock's soul. The pain from a combination of blows and knife wounds built and built until Murdock's vision grayed out and a roaring sound replaced the sounds around him.

When he came to, he could feel a blade against his side as his tormentor began to cut the rest of the clothes from his body. He didn't know how long he'd been hanging there, but it had been a while. His feet were now slipping in the blood that had dripped to the floor. Had he not been chained, he knew that it would have been impossible to stand.

After an eternity, there was the brief whisper of a touch against the small of his back, then a shove. He was forced against the cold wall by the force of the interrogator's movements and there was nothing he could do about the savage assault against his weakened, naked body.

Murdock let out a shuddering moan of fear and the interrogator pushed his face into the wall by a rough grip on his hair. Smiley laughed, as if entertained by the helpless noises. Murdock could feel his attacker's breath against his neck as he weakly struggled. Then the struggles stopped. There was much more pain, but he stopped feeling it as he withdrew to somewhere deep, dark and safe in his mind.

* * *

**1983—Los Angeles **

Face was startled awake by something; he couldn't make out what it had been. He looked out into the room and saw the light glowing out from the bathroom. He blinked and sat up. "Murdock?" He called out. There was no answer. He got up and checked the bathroom, knocking softly before going in and finding it empty. He turned around, eyes skating across the room. He opened the bedroom door and crept down the hallway, scanning it from left to right quickly. No one was in the kitchen or living room. He checked the back porch then headed towards the rear of the house.

It had been five days since his initial conversation with Murdock, and some moments it seemed as if things were deteriorating. Other times, it seemed as if everything would be okay. B. A. seemed to be the only one of them able to bring Murdock back to his old self. The two of them had worked on the van earlier in the afternoon, changing the spark plugs and oil, while Face and Hannibal had sat on the back porch, listening to the two of them banter in the front yard. It had been good to hear, and for once, the two of them weren't at each other's throats, except for some good-natured teasing. Face had been amazed at how B. A.'s treatment of Murdock could be so gentle. He hadn't seen that from B. A. in a while.

Now, Face had one of those feelings that things had turned and gone backwards. He was going to check for Murdock one more time before he'd go and wake up Hannibal.

When he went back into their room, his gaze focused on the small closet. It was empty, since this was just a guest room, but something tugged at him. Almost as if he were drawn to it, he walked over and slid the door open to find Murdock's huddled form inside.

"Murdock—" Face knelt down, to be more on eye level with his friend. "What's going on?" He asked.

Murdock's features were tear-streaked, but also frighteningly empty. He shook his head, slowly, refusing to meet Face's eyes. When Face reached out to touch him on the shoulder, he shrank silently away.

Face knew that isolation was not what Murdock needed. Even his VA file had said that. Without a second thought, he crawled into the bottom of the closet with Murdock. "I'm gonna be right here," he said, "when you're ready to talk to me." He settled back against the wall on the opposite side to wait, as long as it took.

There were what felt like months of silence between them. Face actually felt himself getting sleepy as he sat there, his head resting against the wall. Then, without warning, Murdock whispered, "Remember that time when I made them take me away, instead of B. A.? I remember what happened, I think." He kept his eyes averted, his voice barely audible in the small, darkened space, and he kept talking. Face didn't want to breathe, for fear he'd disrupt the fragile words. "The guards were talking, saying they were supposed to take B. A. for interrogation. They said if B. A. didn't go nicely, they had gotten permission to shoot him." There was a quick, darting look at Face, then back down to his hands, which twisted the hem of his shirt between them. "I knew he wasn't gonna make it." Murdock's eyes brimmed with tears. "He'd just been telling me he was thinking of doing something to get shot. I couldn't let him go 'cause they were gonna kill him if he went." He then took a deep, shuddery breath and went on in an even lower voice. "Face—I don't know if I can tell about the rest of it."

There was a long pause before Face felt able to respond. "You say whatever you want. If you don't want to say anything, that's okay too." Face was barely able to keep a handle on his own feelings right now, but he did; he succeeded for Murdock's sake.

"Face—I . . ." Murdock couldn't seem to put into words what he wanted to say, but then he went on, pulling his knees up to his chest and circling his arms around them. He began to rock back and forth slightly. It was an image that caused a faint worry to nag at him, but Face was concentrating on Murdock's words too closely to remember where he'd seen it before. "I don't remember the trip there, but I remember being in the room . . . It was dark, cold . . . Smiley, that guy we called Smiley was there. It was like being there before, but different. We were alone. My clothes . . . I don't remember what happened to my clothes." His voice faded off into nothing for a moment, and he seemed to be trying to find it again. It was a struggle to speak; each word seemed to hurt him like a blow. He moved to press both hands against his temples as if his head hurt. Again, Face was afraid to say anything or to reach out a comforting hand after the reaction he'd gotten earlier. Something had changed in his friend. The gentle rocking and hands on Murdock's head showed that he was slipping away.

"Face. I . . . I don't think I've ever been that scared in my whole life." Murdock looked up again, still holding the sides of his head as if they hurt.

His eyes reminded Face of some deer they'd seen the last time they were upstate on one of their many training sessions. The deer's liquid brown eyes had seemed to hold some kind of wisdom, some secret too deep to impart, while seeming afraid at the same time. Only Murdock had been able to approach the animals, and now Face thought he knew why.

"Murdock, you're probably the bravest person I know." Face whispered. He ached to offer his friend an embrace. He didn't have to want it long, however, before Murdock flew towards him, burying himself in Face's shoulder. His body was cold, and Face found himself wishing for a blanket to wrap him in.

"I . . . I remember his hands…" He was shaking with sobs so violently that Face could barely understand him. "I couldn't do anything. I tried to fight, but I couldn't . . ." Murdock's body trembled like the threads of a spider's web in a gale.

Face's heart felt like it had stopped beating for a moment. He felt his body grow very still, but he held onto Murdock with all his might. "Murdock. You're telling me he . . . he um. . . ." Try as he might, Face just couldn't bring himself to say the word _rape_, but it was clear what he meant. They'd all heard enough stories when they had first come to the camp. They knew what sometimes happened, especially with the soldiers who were considered one of Smiley's special projects. Murdock's terrible shuddering confirmed what Face had said.

Face began to cry himself. The slow silent tears made his way down his cheeks to land somewhere in Murdock's dark hair. All these years, Murdock had kept this locked up inside. Face had never been sure, but he had wondered if whatever had happened with Smiley had sent Murdock into his downward spiral. There were no words to say, just the comforting touch of their arms around each other.

"I'm scared." Murdock mumbled as Face continued to embrace him, the gentle rocking motion soothing Murdock somewhat. "I keep getting confused. I don't know where I am or who's here or what's going on. After. . ." he swallowed hard, "after it happened, I sort of. . .went away, like in my head. It was so dark. I couldn't see anything or anybody. It feels like that again. I could hear you guys talking to me, but I just wanted to die." His body was limp and exhausted. "I just wanna lie down and never get up again."

The two of them still clung together, and Face spoke into the top of Murdock's hair, "Don't you leave us, Murdock," Face whispered. "We're not going to let you go off into that dark place again."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**Author's note:** Sorry this has taken so long to post the next chapter. I am reworking this story and want it to be much better than before. Thanks for being patient! And the reviews! Keep them coming! :)

* * *

Face didn't know what to do. Murdock was back to sleep, the heavy drugged sleep of the very weary and he, himself, was wide awake. Murdock had been too exhausted to get up out of the closet and Face hadn't felt like pushing him from somewhere he obviously was feeling safe, so he'd gotten a pillow and blanket and made Murdock as comfortable as possible.

The sun was peeking up from the horizon, a soft pinkish-amber light filtered through the window and Face began to hear soft noises from the kitchen. Soon the smell of coffee percolated through the house. He remained where he was, leaning back against the open closet door, watching Murdock sleep.

The threat of tears had really never left him as he sat there replaying the events of the past. It was like some vivid home movie. Except this one was a horror movie. Squeezing his eyes shut didn't help, but he tried it anyway and slow tears still escaped. Murdock. What he'd gone through…now Face knew. They'd all gone through all kinds of torture at the hands of the Vietcong interrogators, each of them had scars, both physical and mental—but…that was nothing compared to what had happened to their pilot. It tore Face up inside. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Everything okay?" Hannibal knew it wasn't, but it was something to ask.

Face looked up and shook his head. Hannibal nodded, then offered his hand, pulling Face to his feet. "Come on." He said softly, clapping Face on the back gently. "He'll be okay for a while. You could use some coffee."

They padded into the kitchen, leaving the door to Murdock's room open just in case. "Here." Hannibal poured Face a cup of the steaming brew. "Rough night with our Captain, huh?"

"You could say that." Face rubbed his eyes again, gathering himself back together. He looked up at Hannibal helplessly, at a loss for how to begin.

"Was it more bad dreams?" Hannibal asked.

"Hannibal, it's worse than that." Face took a sip of coffee, gathering his thoughts. "Something… something happened to him. He remembered that time when they took him out of our cell."

Hannibal nodded, taking a seat near Face at the kitchen table. He simply waited for Face to go on.

"Remember the head interrogator? Smiley? That goddamned creep?" Face asked.

"Yeah. I remember promising him he'd have to suck his meals through a straw if I got my hands on him." There was a steely glint in Hannibal's eye at the remembered wrongs. It had truly caused him grief that he'd not been the one to take Smiley out when the team escaped the prison camp.

"I think he…um...he hurt Murdock." Face began.

Hannibal remembered how broken Murdock had been when they'd finally got him back. He'd been dumped in the corner like a bundle of dirty rags, his back sliced up like meat. He hadn't spoken for days after—moving like a mindless robot. They'd taken care of the deep slashes, trying to make sure they didn't get infected, which had been impossible in the tropical heat and filth of the prison. Lin had swiped the medicine from somewhere and he was sure that antibacterial salve along with the extra food that Lin smuggled to them had helped save Murdock's life, keeping the infection from the open wounds at bay. He inwardly flinched at the memory of Murdock sitting like a stone while he'd cleaned the deep, bloody wounds. He had been like a great silent statue for days, only blinking once in a while.

When Murdock had finally begun talking again, he had made no sense. He had flinched away from any physical contact and, when not talking nonsense, spent a lot of time singing rock and roll songs or opera. Or he would count. He would count anything and everything. Endlessly. He would count the bricks of the walls in their cell. He would count the bars; he would count the birds seen flying by the tiny window that only offered a tiny square view of the sky. He would count leaves in the exercise yard. Rocks. Shoes. Guards. Of course, none of them had complained—they were just thankful to hear him talking again.

"I remember. We kept those wounds of his from getting infected thanks to Lin." Hannibal looked sad and angry.

"Uh…no. Hannibal. It wasn't just the cuts. Smiley…uh. It was worse than the knife wounds. Murdock was one of his…projects." He hung his head, knowing that Hannibal would understand what that meant.

Hannibal's electric gaze narrowed. He felt nauseous, at the mere thought of the interrogator. The man had been a sick psychopath. The mere idea of what Face was suggesting…he found that he could barely control his fury. Quickly he reminded himself that he didn't have the luxury of anger and hatred. His job was something else altogether right now. There was time for outrage later, when he was alone. Now, his team was the most important.

Face could see Hannibal's jaw clenching tightly as he got his emotions under control. They shared the unspoken truth between them with their mutual gaze. "B. A.. He can't know."

Face nodded. "I know, but he remembers as well as we do what …what happened to some of men in that camp."

"Well, if it comes to that, we'll deal with it. Murdock…what did he say after he told you?"

Face's worried expression made him look so much younger. Hannibal was reminded of how young they'd all been back then and his heart ached. He couldn't take this pain away from any of them and it made him angry. "Uh…he said he was confused. Like he was slipping away. He said he didn't know where he was or who we were sometimes. It was like…like before."

Hannibal nodded, his face carefully composed. "Then we'll have to take care of him. Like we did before. Unless…unless you think it might be best to take him back to the VA?" Face was the most knowledgeable about this situation—he kept up on all of Murdock's files and Hannibal trusted his opinion.

Face shook his head. "He asked me, Hannibal. He asked me not to take him back there. He said he felt…like a bug being dissected. I'm no doctor, but I think we can help him better here. He barely told me what happened…I just don't think he's going to ever tell someone he doesn't trust."

"Okay." Hannibal nodded. "We will do what we can. But if it gets bad, if we think it's safer for him to return there…we'll take him back."

Face nodded, seeing the logic in that plan. "I've got a lot of studying to do." He nodded towards Murdock's VA file and the DSM-II, the book that delineated mental illnesses and their treatments, that he'd 'borrowed' from the VA.

"You're the brains of this operation." Hannibal placed a hand on Face's shoulder and squeezed. "That's why I keep you around, kid."

Murdock had slept most of the morning; Hannibal and Face had spent their time reading Murdock's VA file along with the DSM-II. Hannibal, who was less familiar with the file than Face, was transfixed by the details and information that it contained about their pilot's mental state. He found out that Murdock had a nearly genius level IQ; he had known his pilot was smart, but he hadn't known the details. He had known Murdock spoke Vietnamese, but had no idea that the pilot was fluent in French, Italian, German and Spanish. He was in the middle of the file when both he and Face heard a bloodcurdling scream from the back of the house. They met each other's eyes and ran to the bedroom where Murdock was.

The pilot was crouched in the corner near the window. All they could see were his wide dark eyes, which were obviously not seeing them. They were seeing an altogether different scene. Tears streaked his anxious face.

"Murdock." He flinched and curled up smaller as Hannibal called his name.

"Hey. Hey." Face spoke softly and Murdock turned his eyes in that direction. "It's just us. Everything's okay."

"No. No. No. No." The pilot moaned, burying his face against his knees. They took a step forward and he cried over and over. "No…no…no, no, no."

Face looked helplessly at Hannibal. Neither one of them wanted to frighten their friend, and he was clearly terrified out of his mind. He continued to moan, hiding his face.

"Murdock." From behind them, Face heard BA's voice, speaking softly. Apparently he'd arrived and heard some of what was going on. Face and Hannibal took a step back as BA stepped forward. Slowly he edged toward Murdock who was watching him out of the corner of his eye.

"Look like you done had a bad dream." BA said softly, kneeling down near his friend.

Murdock didn't respond, but he didn't back away either. "Hey, there. You don't need to be scared."

Murdock remained motionless. BA reached out a hand and placed it on his arm that wrapped around his knees. The pilot continued to watch out of the corner of his eye, his breath still heaving and tears still rolling down his face. Slowly BA reached out and wrapped Murdock in his giant embrace. It was the last thing that Face and Hannibal expected the big man to do, but it apparently was the right thing. The tension in Murdock's body began to melt away and the tears flowed freely.

"It's okay." BA whispered. "You're okay."

"No, no, no." Murdock returned. "They're coming to get you."

"Ain't nobody gonna get me, you crazy fool." BA said softly. "And nothin's gonna hurt you, as long as I'm around." He held Murdock a few more moments, then let him go as the trembling slowed.

"Things are all messed up." Murdock said wretchedly. He leaned back against the wall, his eyes roaming around the room. "Nothing will be okay anymore. Ever. None of us can make it better. I wish I'd never remembered."

BA was at a loss. Murdock continued, "Just let me go," he said tiredly. "I don't wanna see this anymore. I can't do it."

"I'm not letting you give up." BA replied. He tried to reach out for Murdock again, but the pilot turned his face to the wall, singing softly. Face thought he recognized the tune as an old Bob Dylan song.

"Through this open world I'm about to trouble / Through ice and snows, sleet and rain / I'm about to ride that morning railroad / Perhaps I'll die on that train. / I'm going back to the place that I started from / If I had known how bad you'd treat me honey / I never would have come." Then he stared at the wall, and placed his ear against it. "Hear them? They're coming. It's their keys. I hear them." He whispered, reaching up to tap out a warning. "Don't worry about me, BA." Then he began mumbling in a mixture of Vietnamese and Italian, which quickly turned to opera singing in French.

BA tried to get him to talk again, in English, but Murdock was unable, or unwilling to. It seemed as if he had gone somewhere beyond their reach. "What happened?" BA asked, turning to Hannibal. "He was shook up before, but he was okay. Now…" He turned back to stare at Murdock uncomprehendingly.

Face spoke. "He's had some sort of psychotic break with reality, I think." He was talking carefully and that usually meant he was lying or withholding some information, from what BA could tell. "Like when he came back to us after being …"

"Carved up like a turkey on Thanksgiving." BA finished for him. The pain at the memory was in his voice. "Yeah. I thought he didn't remember all of that stuff."

"He didn't. Until we saw Lin. I think it was a trigger." Face explained.

"What are we gonna do, Face?" BA asked, looking back at Murdock helplessly and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"He's on the right medications for this—I checked. And it seems like some of the warning signs had been coming on for a while. He's having trouble sleeping and connecting with the people at the hospital." He went on. "They can uh…they can do some ECT, if the medications don't help."

"What's that?" BA asked, getting to his feet.

"Electroconvulsive therapy. Um…" BA still looked like he didn't understand. "It's shock treatment, BA. They say it sometimes helps."

BA appeared angry, horrified and overwhelmed all at once, so much so that he just shook his head and left the room.

Hannibal nodded at Murdock who was still singing the "Toreador" aria from Carmen. "Stay with him. See if you can get him to the kitchen to eat something. I'll go work on the big guy."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Five

Author's Note: Historically, no rescue operation was made for the POW's at Camp Faith, although the US government did make an unsuccessful rescue attempt at another POW camp site. This is short, but the next chapter should be coming soon! Maybe this will tide you over until then.

Dan Hoi—1970

"You go with Murdock. I'll find BA and we'll get on the last copter." Hannibal scanned across the prison yard where the other Huey had landed. They had been separated in the crowded corridors and he'd lost track of BA. He'd ordered the other two to come with him, so that he could see them on one of the helicopters that had landed in the exercise yard. Then he planned to go back for his last man.

Face had been helping Murdock climb in and then turned back. "No, Hannibal, wait. Remember? We all get out together or not at all? I'm coming with you."

"No. You're going. We'll be out on the last helicopter."

Hannibal glanced into the Huey and was met by Murdock's large, dark eyes. "BA." He said softly. It was the first direct thing he'd said in a long time. He flinched at some of the closer gunfire, and Hannibal knew he was in no shape to fight his way out of here, mentally or physically. However, when Face spoke, Murdock got out of the helicopter and grabbed onto Face's shirt at the shoulder. It was clear he was not going if they were staying.

Hannibal met Face's eyes meaningfully. "If Murdock was…okay, I'd have you stay. But, you have to go. Get him out of here. That's an order."

Face didn't like it. The helpless look in his eyes showed how much he didn't want to leave. "Just be careful, Hannibal." He reluctantly moved back to the copter, waiting for Murdock, who darted his eyes to Hannibal's face, then focused on the ground.

"Catch you on the flipside, Murdock." He reached out to clap him on the shoulder, but Murdock moved to the side, with his head slightly down. Hannibal had seen this behavior more and more in Murdock after he'd been tortured by that bastard Smiley. Seeing it did something to his heart that hurt.

"Find BA. Be careful." Murdock's words were quiet and his eyes met Hannibal's only briefly before he turned and started to climb back into the Huey. He ducked and froze as he heard more gunfire, but with Face's gentle urging, he got in the helicopter. Once Hannibal saw the bird take flight, he turned to find BA.

1983

It was raining outside, the droplets making a soft whisper as they landed in the blue, blue water of the pool. BA stood under the roof of the porch, trying not to think about Vietnam. Rain always reminded him of the jungle, and he couldn't keep his mind from going back over and over the events of their escape. He'd never wanted to return to thinking about Camp Faith, but the thoughts seemed to be torturing his mind as well as Murdock's.

The day they'd escaped, he'd killed Smiley after what he'd done to Murdock and the other prisoners. It had been a knife fight. Smiley had been the one with the knife, so it had been a little one-sided. However, BA had been trained for hand-to-hand by the best, and working with Hannibal had only made him tougher and better. His hand went to trace the scars on his right arm where he'd suffered several deep cuts.

The interrogator wasn't the first man BA had killed. There'd been plenty of others, but killing someone with your rifle in combat and killing someone with your bare hands…watching the life fade from someone's eyes…it was different. He had been ashamed somehow; ashamed that he had let his rage overwhelm him and ashamed at how glad it had made him feel to know the monster was dead. But killing wasn't something he wanted to be happy about. He'd never told anyone what he had done. Not that he was hiding it, but … it didn't feel right to discuss what he'd had to do. Once the fight was over, he'd stumbled into the yard, bleeding from the cuts on his arm and a deep stab wound in his side. He'd barely made it, until Hannibal came out of the dust and helped him on the last helicopter out. Hannibal had never asked him any questions about it. Maybe he already knew, or he'd guessed, BA wasn't sure.

"BA." Hannibal's voice startled him and he felt his face flush with embarrassment, as if Hannibal could know his thoughts.

"I just needed a minute." He said gruffly.

"I know." Hannibal came over and took a seat on a deck chair that rested under the porch. "I used to like the rain. Now, it just makes me think of the jungle and I can't wait for it to quit." He propped his feet up and sighed tiredly as he leaned back in the chair.

"You came back for me that day." BA murmured. "At Faith. You didn't go. You came back for me."

"I wouldn't have ever left you behind." Hannibal said thoughtfully. "Or anyone, for that matter."

BA and Hannibal watched the rain for a long time. "I can't stand seeing him like that." BA finally admitted. "I want to help, but I don't know what to do."

"I know." Hannibal replied. "All you can do, BA, is what you're doing. Be there for him. You have a way with him."

"I don't want nobody hurting him again." BA said determinedly. "We can't send him back there alone. To the hospital, I mean."

"I know." Hannibal said. "We've gotta bring him back to us. Make him feel safe."

BA nodded. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Murdock with Face in the kitchen. "He's the best friend I have, that crazy fool."

"I know that too." Hannibal said with a sad smile. "This may be the toughest thing we've ever done, BA, but we're gonna find a way to help him." He stood up and clapped BA on the back gently. "Come on in when you're ready."

"I'm ready now." BA said and he followed the colonel in.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**Author's Note: Can I just say how wonderful you guys have been to me with comments? You guys are the best readers ever! Thanks so much for keeping me motivated. This really should be wrapping up soon, and I appreciate your bearing with me while I rewrote this. This story deserved much more than I gave it the first time and the changes have made it better, I think. I hope you still love it as much as I do! Please continue letting me know how I'm doing. :) I live and breathe for your comments! **

* * *

He was dreaming. In the dream, he was back in the camp. He was alone in a cell, though…no one to talk to and he wondered where the others were. Were they still alive? The alternative was too horrific to even contemplate and the anxiety caused his stomach to try and turn itself inside-out. Placing his ear to the rough wooden door, he listened and heard the jingle of keys. It immediately caused another spear of anxiety to stab him.

The old stubborn lock began to turn and then the door opened. He leaped for the uniformed guard and began to fight. When he looked down at the man he was trying to kill he saw a grin of sharp teeth. The man who had almost killed his best friend was back from the grave for vengeance.

BA awoke from the nightmare instantly, eyes searching the gloom frantically.

"BA." He heard a familiar voice and felt a hand on his shoulder. Murdock was kneeling beside the chair, trying to wake him, a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Four, five, six." He counted each gentle shake. "Seven, eight, nine. Bad dream."

BA's heaving breath quieted as he realized he'd only dreamed everything. He sat fully up and ran a hand over his face.

"Ok now." Murdock murmured. "Ok?" Then he darted his eyes to BA and back to the floor. BA reached out to thank his friend by putting a hand on his shoulder, but Murdock whispered "No," and quickly leaned away.

"Yeah. I'm ok." He replied gently, withdrawing his hand. He could sense Murdock's wariness like an electric current, turned on as soon as he reached out to his friend. It had never been that way before and it increased the worry he already felt. Murdock's only response was a nod as he went back to the couch.

"It was a bad dream, but it's gone now. I didn't scare you, did I?" BA asked.

Murdock shrugged as he wrapped the crocheted blanket around himself and then began counting the tassels hanging from the ends. "One. Two. Three. Four." He continued his counting softly as BA noticed Hannibal watching them from the hallway. There was a sad half-smile on his features.

"Sorry I woke you." BA was still trying to shake off the nightmare as he got up and padded over to Hannibal.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

"That sounds like a yes to me." Hannibal replied. He walked over to Murdock and began to place a hand on his shoulder, but then he remembered and stopped himself. "Hey, Captain. You think you'll be ok for a while? I think the big guy needs a few minutes."

Murdock said nothing, but yawned and laid back down.

"I'll take that as a yes too."

"Okay." Murdock said, and closed his eyes.

"C'mon, Sergeant. Let's go for a walk." Hannibal's voice said it wasn't up for argument. They walked out to the pool. The air was fresh and cool after the rain of earlier and a full moon cast a silvery light over the back yard.

"You know, this place was the house of Irene Ruby." Hannibal offered. "-Old film star from the silent pictures."

"It's a nice place. I was wondering how you lucked up on something like this."

"Oh, Face knew a guy who knew her granddaughter." Hannibal said. "Face and the young Miss Ruby got very friendly. You know how that goes. It came furnished." He gestured to a stone bench beside the pool.

"Yeah."

"You wanna tell me what all that was about in there?" Hannibal said gently, now turning serious. "We're already struggling to hold onto Murdock. We can't have you slipping away too, Sergeant."

"Just a dream. It's nothing."

"BA." Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

BA sighed heavily. He briefly thought of lying to Hannibal, but he just couldn't do it. Not only was he horrible at lying, Hannibal was great at picking up on lies as well. "I can't. It's just a lot of memories. This…this has stirred up the muck, you know. I keep thinking of things that I'd forgotten about. Remember the guard's keys? I dreamed about them. Fighting the guards…like I did that day." He heaved another great sigh. "It's just a bunch of things." Well, there it was. It wasn't a total lie. It was…only part of the truth that he was too ashamed to tell.

Hannibal knew there was more, as well, but he let it drop for the moment. "This has stirred up everyone's memories." He nodded, looking down at his hands. "That place…Faith. It was the worst, and I would never have had us **ever** be there at all, but it brought out the best in us somehow." His voice became low suddenly. "It's hard to explain how proud I was…no, how proud I **am** of you and them, BA." He looked sidelong at his Sergeant. "I've commanded many men over my career in the military, but you three…you're more than just soldiers to me. It all goes back to that place. I don't think…this," he waved his hand around to explain, "life on the run would be possible if we didn't…have such a bond."

BA nodded. "We wouldn't be here if you hadn't kept us together in there. Chow, Angel, and the other one—Smiley." His hands closed into fists, as he was remembering. "They would have been the end of us without you." Hannibal had been so strong...an example of the perfect soldier and friend. BA had thought about it many times, but he realized again how he wouldn't have been the person he was without Hannibal's steady influence.

"Maybe." Hannibal said and shrugged. "Maybe not. Either way, we're here now. We're together. We gotta keep it that way."

"Yeah. No matter what the cost." BA replied.

* * *

Later the next day, Face returned from consulting with a psychiatrist at Parkland General Hospital. Given Murdock's symptoms, the doctor suggested a short-term change in medications, and observation. Thinking Face was a colleague, he also gave the grateful blond his home number in case of an emergency, since he'd had much more experience treating this problem than Face had. The various counterfeit prescription pads Face possessed were helpful in obtaining the right medication without any questions.

For two days, things went on pretty much the same as they had. Murdock slept more, due to the medicine, but Face knew from talking to the doctor that it was a completely normal reaction. Nothing else had changed. For instance, the pilot still shied away from most direct eye contact or attempts to touch him. The singing began again the second day, and Murdock sang soft sometimes and loudly other times, alternately and not for any seeming reason. There was opera in the morning, a requiem by Mozart in the early afternoon and by late afternoon there was rock from the 70's. By the time it was dark, Murdock had completely worn himself out. Face had warned them that as the medicine took effect it would slow some of the more manic thoughts and bring their friend's brain chemistry closer to normal. Then he would have to face the memories he was desperately trying to run away from.

"Blessed silence, at least for a while." Face murmured from the kitchen, where he sat reading Murdock's VA file. BA and Hannibal had been playing cards with Murdock as their audience, and finally, he'd fallen asleep.

"That opera stuff…it's not as bad as it seems. Not when he tells us what it means." BA said softly as he looked over his cards.

"Face, get the car ready. We need to get BA to the hospital stat." Hannibal raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me Murdock has finally gotten you to like opera."

BA shrugged. "I don't know nothing about opera. It just makes sense when he explains it."

Hannibal showed his cards and BA beat him with four of a kind. "Damn." He threw his cards into the pile. "That's the third time you've beaten me today. I give up."

He sat back and eyed Murdock's sleeping face as BA gathered the cards. "I think he's really out for good. Wanna bunk him in that other extra room? It's gotta be more comfortable than the couch and it's got two twin beds."

"Yeah, sure." BA replied. "I'm tired myself. Not much sleep last night."

It was only a matter of minutes before they got Murdock into bed. He murmured, "Be careful, Hannibal." Hannibal and BA looked at each other and then the colonel turned back to the sleepy pilot.

"I will, Murdock. Don't worry." He tugged the covers up around Murdock's shoulders and looked to BA.

"You're sure you don't wanna switch places with me tonight? You could get a good night's sleep." Hannibal asked.

"I'll stay. It uh…it kinda helps if I have something to do." BA shrugged, unable to explain more, but at Hannibal's understanding look, he knew he didn't have to.

"Goodnight, then. Call us if you need us." Hannibal replied, patting BA's shoulder as he left the room.

* * *

The sound of running water seemed so loud, BA awoke expecting to see a raging river or tumbling waterfall near him. It was not a river, however, it was the shower in the attached bathroom. This room basically mimicked the room that Face and Murdock had stayed in the first night, and BA got up, seeing the light shining from around the door. It was night; the luminescent clock showed 3:24 A. M.

"Murdock?" BA knocked softly at the door. He could faintly smell the scent of Dial soap. It got stronger as BA pushed open the door just a little. "Murdock."

BA heard a thump and moan and they froze his blood. He threw the bathroom door open immediately and entered. The shower was on full-blast and the room was full of steam. He saw Murdock's clothes in a heap and a dark figure on the floor of the shower behind the frosted glass door. He was both afraid to look and afraid not to.

Murdock was naked, wet and huddled in the corner of the shower as the hot water beat down. BA's breath caught as he saw the raised, twisted scars that marked his friend's back. He was familiar with them, he'd seen Murdock before without his shirt, but not often. He would never get used to what that monster had done to Murdock.

"I tried." Murdock murmured. "It just doesn't…I can't scrub it off. As hard as I try, it doesn't come off." He dropped his head and groaned helplessly. "I tried, BA. I tried to get clean, but it doesn't come off." His voice trailed off into the noise of the roaring water. Not caring about getting wet, BA reached in for the knobs of the shower. The water slowed to a drip, then a stop. It was then he noticed the red streaks of blood welling up on Murdock's forearms and the wickedly sharp bathroom scissors in his hand.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Here is part one of the long awaited climax of the story. I hope you're still enjoying this. If you do, please leave a comment. That's how I know I did well! I appreciate all the kind words-you have kept me motivated, and if I didn't thank you personally, it was because I was too busy trying to get this story from my head onto the paper. There will be chapter or two more then I'll be done and onto other things.  
**

* * *

"Oh God." BA breathed, but he wasn't sure if he was blaming God or calling for help. Probably both. How much more would his friend have to suffer? He felt tears well up in his eyes. "Murdock. What happened?" He slowly removed the scissors from his friend's tight grip and snatched a towel off the rack. He began to press it against the worst of the horizontal slices into his friend's flesh.

"I tried. I tried to get him off of me." Murdock twisted free and looked down at the bloody wounds on his arm. "I can't wash it off. It's still eating me away, BA. It's not gonna stop 'till I'm dead." His hand rubbed at the wound desperately, causing more blood and more damage. "Why? Where am I?" Now that the water was not washing it away, BA could see that Murdock had cut himself very deeply in quite a few places on his arms.

"It's okay….shhh….Stop, Murdock." BA pleaded, trying to stop Murdock from harming himself further. He tried to keep pressure on the worst of the wounds. But Murdock twisted away.

"What he did…it's like acid…eating me away, and I can't…I tried singing and yelling and sleeping, and it won't stop. He won't stop, BA. I can't wash it away, I can't get clean again." His nails dug into his flesh frantically and his voice was coming faster and faster.

Immediately BA placed his hands over Murdock's so he wouldn't keep hurting himself in his panic. "No, no. It's okay. I'm here. Please Murdock. No..."

"I could feel his breath on my skin." The words flooded out in a torrent as he twisted his wrists in BA's grip. His dark eyes seemed to bore into BA's soul. "I just want to forget it, but…but I can't." He looked down and began to count the slices on his arms. "One, two, three, four, five." His breathing seemed to calm some as he counted in a monotone.

Despite everything going on, BA began to realize what Murdock was saying. Memories of the tormented soldiers who had been some of Smiley's special projects went through his mind. He felt sick to his stomach and rage began to well up, threatening his vision. With a monumental effort, he kept his voice gentle, however. "Are you…what are you saying, Murdock? You're saying he…" BA wrapped another large bath towel around the pilot, who was cold and shivering now that the hot water had stopped. "You're not talking about how he cut you…are you?" BA said softly, afraid to say more. It was so hard to speak because his words, on their way out of his mouth, stopped like a car against a stone wall.

"N-nooooo." Murdock let out a wail that tore BA's soul as he buried his face against the big man's shoulder and finally sobbed. The tremors wracked the pilot's body and soul. BA held back his tears, even though he finally had the full knowledge what his friend had gone through. Murdock didn't need to say anything more—BA just knew. And BA realized it was all his fault. Murdock had gone with the guards to save him and he would never be able to forgive himself for it. Even though he felt like he was falling apart, he held it together for Murdock, who needed him more.

Just at that moment, the door came open and it was Face, who apparently had heard Murdock's cries. One moment staring at the two of them told him all he needed to know. The cat was out of the bag. He vanished for a few moments, then he returned with Hannibal. Face's worried face searched Hannibal's for their next move.

"BA." Hannibal finally leaned in and spoke softly. "He's cold. Let him go for a minute." Face had brought a change of clothes into the bathroom at Hannibal's order.

BA didn't say anything, but it was obvious he didn't want to let Murdock go. He held on tight, not giving any sign that he heard any of their entreaties.

"BA, please…we need to get him out of there, get him dressed and check out his wounds." Face said again, placing a hand on BA's shoulder. Again, BA didn't show that he heard them at all.

"He's hurt. Now, let us take a look at him, Sergeant." Hannibal's voice was tight with emotion. He had seen the smears of blood on the towels and knew something was wrong. It was certainly not enough blood to be life threatening, but it was enough to be worrisome.

Finally BA let Murdock go and moved back. Hannibal and Face got Murdock dressed. He was like a limp ragdoll except he was counting softly, his mumbles hard to understand. Once he was settled on the bed, Face began to examine, then bandage up the wounds on his arms. "What were you doing?" Face asked softly, not expecting an answer.

"Don't know." Murdock mumbled. "Trying to wash it away. I thought…the blood…would wash the memories out of me." Face, with all his reading about PTSD and associated behaviors, knew that Murdock might have been trying to manage his emotional pain by providing a temporary escape through physical pain. He'd also read that victims would use self-injury to keep themselves grounded in the present, instead of experiencing horrible things from their past. That was most certainly the case here.

"It's okay." Face murmured. He glanced at Hannibal, who looked seriously worried. "He wasn't trying…to do what you think." He didn't want to say suicide. He didn't even want to think it, but he knew that was what Hannibal was thinking. He wound the gauze around Murdock's arm and looked up to see BA standing very near. It was obvious the big guy needed something to do.

"BA. Put your hand right here. Gentle but firm pressure right here." Face guided BA's big hand to the worst of the wounds. Then he focused on the other arm, using smaller band-aids across the lesser wounds.

"I'm sorry." Murdock whispered.

BA knelt beside the bed so he could catch Murdock's eyes. His voice trembled, "Don't be sorry. I…I'm the one who should be…" The enormity of the situation hit him and he finally felt tears stinging his eyes. "I…I should be the one who's sorry." He turned his head so he wouldn't have to look at any of them and they wouldn't see his tears.

Hannibal shared a look with Face. This had been what they had been afraid of. It took everything they had to watch the big guy crumble and not break down themselves.

"BA…" Hannibal began.

"NO. You don't understand. It's my fault he went that day. All this…" a sob caught in his throat and he let Murdock go as he got up and went for the door. "All this is my fault." He muttered as he left the room.

Face winced when he heard a loud boom from the hallway, followed by a few anguished sobs. Then there was a crashing noise and another boom.

"There it is." Hannibal said softly, laying his hand on Murdock's shoulder. Face started to get up, but Hannibal shook his head as more sounds of destruction came from the other end of the house.

"Two…three…four." Murdock said, flinching each time they heard a loud noise.

"Let him get it all out." Hannibal said.

"Five." Murdock said at the fifth loud noise, and he stood up. "BA."

"Maybe you shouldn't…" Face began.

Murdock paid no attention as he left the bedroom.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

**Author's note: I hope you have enjoyed this story as much as I have! There may be an epilogue, but I'm not sure yet. If you'd like to see one, let me know, but maybe it's just good like it is. I'll see what the characters tell me. Comments are welcome as you know. :) Actually, they're not just welcome... I'm addicted to them. **

**Dan Hoi-1970**

They were in the yard, eating the meager food that had been given to them. Murdock was sitting under one of the only trees around, while BA made sure he ate the thin soup of cabbage and unidentifiable greens. If someone didn't feed him or stand close by, encouraging him to eat, he would put the bowl down and stare into space.

"Sewer greens again." Face said with distaste, looking down into the green liquid and wilted cabbage floating in the bowl. "Seems like they would get better at it, since they practice cooking it so much."

"Maybe they have gotten better at it. We've only been here a little over a month." Hannibal said with a twist of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

Without a word, Lin came by with his basket of bread. He was only supposed to give each man a small loaf, no bigger than a bread plate but, to them, he handed out five, nervously meeting Hannibal's eyes. It wasn't much to begin with, but any extra was welcome. They'd all been trying to make sure Murdock got enough to eat since his interrogation. He, like many of the men at Faith, was weakened and slightly feverish, and because of his mental condition, they worried about him even more.

"Thank you." Hannibal and the others took the bread loaves with both hands, according to Vietnamese custom, and gave a small bow. He understood that Lin was helping them at great risk to himself, and so did not acknowledge the gift directly.

Lin's eyes darted to Murdock and then back to Hannibal. He gave a small smile before he went on.

"How many people does he do this for, I wonder?" Hannibal said in a low voice.

"Don't know," BA said, "but I wish I could find some way to thank him for it." He handed a piece to Murdock and watched to make sure he ate it. The pilot took a small bite, staring at the bread, then counting the loaves everyone held.

"One, two, three, four, five loaves." Murdock said softly. He took another bite of bread as he watched Lin walk away from them.

"Yep. You counted right." BA replied. The soft bread was still warm and he found himself wondering how many soldiers Lin's gifts like this bread had saved. "Okay—Eat up." He began to eat his own bread ration, after making sure Murdock finished the first hand –sized loaf. It definitely tasted better than the soup.

Two of the patrolling guards were headed their way. BA passed the extra loaf to Murdock, who looked down at it in surprise. "Eyes." BA said, almost imperceptibly nodding in the direction of the guards.

"Great." Face muttered, looking down but watching out of the corner of his eyes.

"One, two." Murdock counted. "Two guards."

"So. If it isn't our newest additions." One of the guards, who translated for the others often, could speak passable English. Somehow, his face resembled a shark. His teeth were pointed and his black eyes seemed dead but evil at the same time. "I think there might be some questions we have for certain members of these Green Berets. Why don't we see what the pilot has to say?"

Murdock quietly began singing the song of the Air Force. "Off we go / into the wild blue yonder…" BA realized Murdock **was** listening, because he was telling them they had gotten it wrong; he was not a green beret. His voice, however, was shaky and his eyes were looking around…as if seeking an avenue of escape.

BA stood up to his full height and joined the other two as they ringed Murdock, shielding him. "He ain't comin' with you." BA growled.

"You don't have anything to say about it." The guard retorted. However, Hannibal and Face both noticed how the other guard looked a little worried.

"I'm afraid you're wrong. We DO have something to say about it. You're gonna have to go through all of us to get him." Hannibal said with a confident grin that he didn't feel. "And you might get one or two of us…but you're not gonna get us all at once, and I've seen the big guy here break bones with his bare hands. Who wants to go first?"

"It might be better find something else to do with your afternoon. I hear there's a dice game between the wall guards after this wonderful brunch." Face quipped, a dangerous look in his eyes. "Try the soup. It's delicious."

The two guards had an exchange in Vietnamese that Face and Hannibal couldn't catch, but it was finally BA's growl that sent the guards packing, muttering under their breaths in their native tongue. They continued to argue more loudly as they walked off.

Murdock began to laugh softly behind them, looking down at the bread in his lap.

Face tried to quell his hammering heart. "What's so funny, Murdock?"

Apparently it would have to be a secret what the two guards said because Murdock didn't answer. He took the extra loaf of bread and broke it carefully into three equal pieces, stood up and gave one piece to each of them. "One…two…three." He counted each of them, making eye contact for the first time in many days. Then he returned to his place on the ground, wrapping his arms around his knees and humming to himself.

BA started to protest about the bread, but Face shook his head. "I think he's thanking us, BA," he said softly, a sudden stinging of tears in his eyes.

* * *

Murdock's deep cuts on his arm still throbbed, but as the pain lessened, so did his connection with reality. He imagined himself holding on to right now by his fingernails. He heard the numbers in his mind, and he ignored them, although it would have been easier to go with them. The numbers were safety, emotionless, and as regular as the noise of the surf on the shore. There was safety in that reliability. When things had gotten bad, at the prison camp, he found solace from the pain in counting or singing and these compulsions were hard to ignore now that they had returned.

They continued to nag at the back of his mind like an incredibly painful itch as he entered the living room. He detoured around the shattered glass on the floor and followed the path of destruction. BA. His best friend was standing with his head against the far wall. A wall that definitely had two fist sized holes in it. One…two…he found his mouth forming the words soundlessly before he could stop it. NO. No counting, he reminded himself. Counting would take him somewhere else and he needed to be here right now. He had to help BA.

There was a horrible noise of sobbing coming from his friend. Even though it hurt him to hear that sound, he forced himself to listen to it. It was time to quit hiding and help ease the pain he heard in his friend's tears. Gently, almost fearfully, he walked up to BA's side and placed his hand hesitantly on the big man's shoulder. His friend stiffened, then relaxed after realizing who it was. After a moment BA reached up to wipe the tears from his face. His hand, Murdock saw, was bloody; Murdock surmised he'd skinned his knuckles somewhere on his rampage through the house.

He didn't say anything, but he leaned in, giving BA a one armed shoulder hug, offering the silent comfort that they both needed.

"After all these years…he's still got claws in both of us, even though he's dead." BA said softly, tears still trembling in his voice.

"Dead?" Murdock asked simply.

BA took another deep breath. Should he say what he was thinking about revealing? What would Murdock's reaction be? Would it make him feel better or worse? The worry was tearing at him and he placed his head against the wall again, closing his eyes.

"I never told anyone, but I killed him." He muttered through gritted teeth. "And I'm glad I killed him. It's wrong to feel glad about death, I know, but I am. I wish I could kill him again, for what he did to you." He turned his head to see Murdock's expression before he went on.

At the revelation, Murdock's eyes widened. As BA continued speaking, he grabbed his friend's t-shirt by the sleeve. He didn't want to hear it, because he could see it hurt BA in the telling; however, the words spilled out of BA just as they had with Murdock earlier in the shower. It was as if once the floodgate was open, it couldn't stop.

"He had that knife—the one he was always carrying around. He was trying to kill me with it…" BA took a big shuddering sigh, turned and slid down the wall to sit on the floor. "…and I strangled him. I watched his eyes, those black eyes glaring at me, and I took each one of those stabs while I pinned him down. I was so far gone…I never felt the pain." BA's voice was low.

Murdock sat down beside BA as he went on. "I never killed anybody like that before. It's…It's different than shooting an enemy. I remember…I remember not caring as long as I could see him die for what he did to you. And I didn't even know the half of it." He stifled a sob. "He'd killed several soldiers already that day. He'd cut their throats. The blood was everywhere." The image was just as clear in front of his eyes as if he'd seen it just yesterday, and it still made him shudder, just as it had back then.

"You saved lives that day…he would have killed others." Murdock spoke softly, as if his words were a secret shared only between them. Biting back the numbers was difficult and he quavered on the knife edge of giving into them. "I'm…I'm glad…you killed him too." He understood the loss of innocence that BA had experienced by killing his tormentor with his bare hands. And he realized, they'd both lost something at Faith.

"Wish I could have killed him before…before he…" BA swiped at his eyes roughly.

Murdock's face contorted with the effort of focus it took to simply stay in the present. The story BA had told, the pain his friend had been through and the ever present memories that he, himself, was struggling to deal with was almost too much. It would be easy to slip into that other world where he'd spent the last few days, but he fought it. "Do you think I should blame myself over what happened?" He asked suddenly.

"What? No!" BA replied.

"So why would you blame yourself?" It was a statement more than a question. "We both lost something at Faith, BA. But we gained something too." He looked into his friend's sad, warm brown eyes as he put his hand on BA's arm. As they held gazes, he realized that BA understood what he was saying. Their friendship, the bond that all four of them shared, had been tempered in the hell of Dan Hoi. They'd lost so much, but they'd also gained much more. "What we went through…It was as hard for you as it was for me."

BA shook his head and wrapped an arm around Murdock in a hug, seeing the apparent struggle written on his face. "No, it couldn't have been." He could feel Murdock's body trembling slightly. "What is it?"

"It's hard. Hard to stay focused." He admitted. His eyes drifted to some framed prints on the wall. "One…two…three…. I'm trying real hard, BA." He was obviously exhausted and washed out. BA could see there were some spots of blood on the gauze on Murdock's arm and he was reminded again of how fragile a state his friend was in.

"I know. It's ok. I'm here for you and I'm not going anywhere." He murmured, becoming even more worried.

"Thanks," he gritted his teeth and tore his eyes away from counting the window panes across the room.

BA looked up to follow Murdock's gaze and saw Face and Hannibal in the semi-darkness. Face was undoubtedly the expert here, and BA's beseeching look triggered him to respond. "Murdock..." He began, approaching them and kneeling. "I think you need some rest now. We've got plenty of time to talk about all of this later, but now…you need to sleep. No more talking." He searched Murdock's face and nodded. There was more of the pilot present than there had been the past few days, and he began to feel a ray of hope. Murdock was struggling, yes, but he was coming back to them. Perhaps the medicine had had a positive effect, or BA had been the one who brought Murdock back with his revelation about the death of the interrogator Smiley. Either way, he'd take the improvement, no question. "In my professional opinion, Dr. Peck recommends sleep for the patient and his friends."

"You heard the doctor." Hannibal ordered. "If I see anyone peek out of their room before 8 AM, I'll court martial you myself."

"You won't get an argument from me." BA said. He began to help Murdock back to the room. When he reached Hannibal, BA paused, searching for the right words.

"I know." Hannibal said simply, placing a hand on BA's shoulder. "Go rest, BA. Take care of Murdock."

The colonel watched the two of them enter the bedroom, then he looked at Face. "He is better, isn't he." It was more of a statement rather than a question.

"Yeah." Face nodded. "They're both better."


End file.
